Scenes From Six
by jules10622
Summary: Series of oneshots inspired by classic songs. All set in Book 6... scenes I like to think could have happened away from Harry's POV or major thread of the plot. Mostly fluffy with a few shots of angst, because who doesn't love angst?
1. Just What I Needed

Song: "Just What I Needed"

Artist: The Cars

Harry Potter was sitting alone on an icy stone bench in the snow-covered courtyard. He had finished his last class of the day, and as the other students hurried inside to escape the cold, his destination was uncertain. He had no desire to go to the library with the increasingly irritable Hermione, nor did he want to return to the common room to witness Lavender and Won-Won participating in their favorite pastime. Overhead, a single dark owl swooped across the white-gray sky into the Owlery. Until now, Harry would not have thought it possible to feel so lonely while everyone he knew was still talking to him.

Harry stood and scooped up his book bag, supposing that having Hermione help him with his Transfiguration essay would be marginally more enjoyable than remaining on the bench and dying of frostbite. But as soon as he had slung on his bag and shoved his hands in his pockets, someone spoke to him.

"Hello, Harry," said Luna strangely, who had seemingly appeared from thin air, though more likely from the Divination corridor. Today her hair was pulled back in two ponytails secured with long ribbons that flashed various bright and garish patterns. Harry couldn't contain a smile; he thought the ribbons would set off her Spectrespecs nicely, but she wasn't wearing them.

"Hi, Luna," he replied as Luna smiled back at him in her dazed way.

"I just wanted to thank you again for talking me to Slughorn's party," she said. "I had a wonderful time. Professor Trelawney and I talked about the Gnarly Turgus infestation for hours!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Gnarly what?"

"The Gnarly Turgus," Luna said soberly, "is a small but terrible creature covered in poisonous spines that lives in bathroom pipes and stops up the water. Father has been having an ongoing battle with them for years."

It sounded to Harry like Luna was describing a hairy clog, but he kept this thought to himself. Some snow was beginning to soak its way through his sock. "Well, I'm glad you had a good time," he said with another smile, then he turned to enter the castle.

To his puzzlement, Luna followed him, apparently unaware that Harry thought their conversation was over. "How do you fancy Snape as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" she asked, stamping snow from her feet.

"Er..." Harry began. He had never really assessed Snape's teaching ability before; he was usually too busy watching him with a suspicious eye through every lesson, especially after overhearing him with Malfoy at Slughorn's party. But as he thought about it, he realized that he had learned quite a bit through Snape's tutelage. Snape had brought a fair number of Harry's class up to speed on nonverbal spells, though he was no great gentleman in doing it, and he was honest about the uses of the spells they learned and the ones they might face, despite the tender tone of his voice while he described the most gruesome.

To Luna, Harry said wryly, "Well, he's no Umbridge, that's for sure."

Luna laughed loudly at this. Harry realized they were walking in the opposite direction from the Gryffindor common room, but he was not overly bothered since he was avoiding it anyway.

"You're right," Luna said, "because Umbridge was mean _and_ worthless, and Snape is just mean! Things are more funny when they're true."

"Er, I suppose they are."

They walked in silence for a while, so long that Harry wondered whether he should make an excuse to leave. Then he remembered that Luna was following him in the first place, and he wondered why it now felt like he was following her. But then Luna resumed conversation as though only a few seconds, not minutes, had passed.

"I'm learning quite a bit with him, I think," she said, apparently still referring to Snape. "But I miss DA meetings. Don't you?"

Harry remembered what Luna had said on the train ride at the beginning of the school year: _It was like having friends_. He felt a pang of guilt for not continuing the club, but with a satisfactory D.A.D.A. teacher it hardly seemed necessary; plus Harry did not want regular DA plans to interfere with his meetings with Dumbledore. However, he could not deny he missed teaching and watching each member make progress... he still remembered Neville's first successful Patronus.

"I do, yeah," Harry replied, thinking that every question Luna asked him seemed to plunge him deeper into thought than usual. "But--"

"I know, we don't need it, now that we've got a real teacher," Luna said, sounding sadder than Harry had hoped she would.

After a bit more silence in which Luna's hair ribbons flashed from plaid to polka dot to neon yellow, Harry, still feeling guilty, asked, "I've got some homework to do in the library, would you like to come with me?"

Luna brightened. "Sure! I've got some Care of Magical Creatures to work on myself."

Luna's mention of Hagrid's subject allowed Harry to ask how the class was going; he had been curious to know how Hagrid was faring and what deadly creature they were studying this term. By the time they reached the library, Harry was a bit jealous, as Luna had reported significantly fewer serious injuries than his class had endured, though their rimscrawlers (which resembled small, blue badgers) were beginning to sprout fangs.

Harry wondered whether they would meet Hermione in the library, but this question was answered almost as soon as they walked in the door, for Hermione stormed past them furiously, pursued by a disgruntled-looking McClaggen. Harry and Luna shrugged at each other and sought out a table. As they sat down, Luna yawned widely.

"Tired?" Harry asked.

Luna nodded. "I haven't got much sleep the past few nights. I've been on Gnarly Turgus patrol. None of the other girls in my dormitory seem to think it's very important."

"Imagine that," Harry said in what he hoped was not too sarcastic a tone. Despite Luna's intense weirdness, he was rather enjoying himself, perhaps because he had been surrounded by anger and resentment for weeks.

The two removed books and scrolls from their book bags and set to work, but it seemed to Harry that no sooner had he set his quill to his parchment than Luna set hers down and announced, "Finished!"

"What?" asked Harry, flabbergasted. He had only just begun to recall the more complicated points of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson. "You can't be serious!"

"I suppose your workload has increased rather a lot this year," Luna said, "with being a N.E.W.T. student and all. You just keep working, don't mind me."

But it was quite difficult for Harry to not mind Luna, for as he again bent his head over his essay and scribbled earnestly, Luna produced from her book bag some device that kept squeaking, squealing, and buzzing just loud enough to disturb his train of thought. Harry looked up, annoyed, and found that it was a many-sided puzzle of sorts. He decided it was much like a Muggle Rubik's cube (which Dudley had received once for his birthday from a generally disliked great-aunt, and which was responsible for many of the dents on Harry's bedroom wall), except that Harry counted 12 sides and Luna was attempting to solve it by twisting, pushing, and poking several of the sides at once.

She noticed him looking and said, "I got it from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes—Ron's brothers. You're friends with them, aren't you? There's a prize inside. You have to solve it to get it out."

"Oh." Luna went back to attacking the puzzle, and Harry stared at his essay. Where had he been? Switching Spells? No, Swapping Spells, they had done Switching last year... But if they had been Swapping, where had the extremely angry raccoon come in? Harry checked his notes, but all that was there was a cartoon of the raccoon Professor McGonagall had been Transfiguring attacking Crabbe and Goyle, followed by scrawled praise for the drawing from Ron.

Harry supposed that if he was going to pass a single N.E.W.T., he would have to begin taking more thorough notes. He dipped his quill into fresh ink and valiantly began a paragraph he hoped pertained vaguely to the assignment. A few words in, Luna's puzzle squawked suddenly; Harry started and made a large ink blot on his parchment.

"Darn it," said Luna. "I nearly had it that time."

Harry glanced from his homework to Luna's puzzle and back again, then concluded that it was not in the stars for his Transfiguration to be completed tonight. He would ask Hermione about it later, who surely must have been paying more attention than he.

"How does it work?" Harry asked, stowing his defeated essay in his bag.

"I don't know," replied Luna, concentrating intently.

"Then how do you know you almost had it?"

"It says so right here on the top." Luna held to puzzle out to him for a second, and sure enough, messages like _Almost there!_ and _Keep it up!_ flashed across the top side of the dodecagon.

Luna yawned again.

"Can I try it?" asked Harry.

"Of course."

As Harry took the puzzle, it occurred to him that it was very unlikely that Fred and George would create a harmless, if difficult, game. Wondering what sort of unpleasant trap it was set with, but too curious about what heights the twins' genius had reached, Harry aped Luna's attempt. _Getting close!_ encouraged the top side. Brow furrowing, he twisted a flashing purple side with his little finger and pressed down on a glittering red one...

"I think you've almost got it!" said Luna excitedly.

Harry thought so too, dreading and anticipating _it_ at the same time, and then the message face flashed _Whoops!_

The puzzle made a loud noise of flatulence and exuded a foul stench. Madam Pince eyed them threateningly; Harry concealed the offending puzzle behind him while Luna held her nose. Madam Pince shook her head at Harry's lack of manners and went back to her business.

Harry made an apologetic face at Luna, who released her nose and said, "You can keep trying. You're much better at it than me." She pulled out the latest _Quibbler_ and opened it to a page she had marked.

Harry stared at her for a moment, then at the puzzle. Was a fart joke really the best Fred and George could come up with? There must be a way to actually win... He gave the face that displayed messages (which now featured a red-headed stick figure making obscene gestures at him) a good hard poke.

_Stop that, you twit!_ said the message face.

That sounded like the twins Harry knew. Why would they make a puzzle that spouted encouragement all the way to the solution?

Harry felt like an imbecile. _They wouldn't, of course..._ He picked up the puzzle and began to contort it, avoiding any move that gave him a pleasant message. Soon the messages became vicious insults, many of which would have earned Fred and George a long lecture from Mrs. Weasley; Harry smiled envisioning it. The game was quite addicting, and he lost track of time...

The message on the puzzle read _You're doing it wrong, you fat idiot!_, leading Harry to believe he was making an error (not because it said so but because it was the least profane statement he had gotten recently), when he heard Luna mutter something from across the table.

Being jolted back to the library, he said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hog the--"

He trailed off when he saw that Luna was asleep, passed out on an article titled, "Warlock Rugby: What You Didn't Know Happens In Your Own Backyard."

"Gerbil fritters no good pie," she slurred. "Hokey pokey rocking chair." Harry noted that Luna's incoherent sleep-talking was not much stranger than what she said when conscious.

_Here's your chance to escape_, he thought automatically before realizing he did not want to escape at all.

With his inattention, the puzzle had begun to say things like _Fabulous job!_ and _Doin' fine!_ When Harry noticed this, he thrust the puzzle away, lest it fart again.

It knocked Luna on the elbow and she jolted awake.

"Oh!" she said, "I've been asleep! And you've been just sitting there, and..." (she looked out the window) "now it's dark and I've wasted your whole evening! I'm sorry!"

Luna looked truly upset. As she stared at him uncertainly, Harry let a silence of Luna-like proportions pass. Then he honestly replied, "I don't mind."


	2. It's My Party

Song: "It's My Party"

Artist: Lesley Gore

_And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her._

>>>

_Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_ Hermione felt as if her gleeful shriek would explode from her mouth if she ceased to contain it with her beaming grin. She had known it was coming, but could there have been a more perfect moment? She supposed that if Harry had won the game and kissed her in front of the whole school on the Quidditch pitch... but as it was, it was still the most romantic thing she had ever seen in person. And there was a certain feminist justice to the fact that Harry had made his move during a celebration of Ginny's success.

_At least one of them has half a clue about girls_, Hermione thought.

>>>

All Ron could hear was a faint buzzing noise in his ears. His mouth gaped open slightly, giving him the appearance of a dazed fish. The glittering Quidditch Cup that he held suddenly dimmed in his eyes as he focused on the bizarre sight before him.

His best friend... and his sister... Ron's brain struggled to understand this strange new reality. His frazzled through process went something like this:

_GET YOUR SLIMY LIPS OFF MY SIS—Wait, this could be all right... not a prat like Corner... know better than Dean... deserves to be happy, I suppose... at least it's not Cho again... but seriously, now, he can stop any time... she must get his point by now... honestly... may have to punch him anyway..._

Harry finally pulled away and met Ron's eyes. In a stunning example of the instant communication perfected by true best mates, the boys carried out a complete conversation in a fraction of a second. Harry pleaded, Ron regarded him with proper brotherly suspicion, Harry defended his trustworthiness, Ron 'grudgingly' permitted with the slightest nod.

Though Harry had never confessed his feelings for Ginny to Ron, Ron could see sincerity in Harry's earnest face, and it hit him as a major revelation that what he was seeing was worlds away from anything he had with Lavender. He glanced at her a few feet away and felt an extraordinary degree of apathy.

>>>

Lavender Brown felt a feminine thrill of romance and an equally feminine pang of jealousy as she watched Ginny and Harry. How she wished she could be swept off her feet with such a dramatic display of affection... but she supposed Ron was not suited to romantic demonstrations. While their displays were usually quite public, they were not often terribly affectionate—more sticky, really. Of course, Ron was new to real dating, as, admittedly, was Lavender, but she knew he was truly dashing on the inside; he had only to let it out. Perhaps he would be inspired by Harry. Yes, Won-Won surely wouldn't let Harry out-do him; he had probably already begun to plot his own amorous gesture. Maybe it would happen tomorrow morning during breakfast. All the girls would talk about it, but she would just smile demurely and refuse to give details... only for a few minutes of course...

Shelving her daydream for later, Lavender found Parvati and shot her the mischievous smile of a gossip over the head of Dennis Creevey. There was much to be discussed.

>>>

"Wow," murmured Colin and Dennis Creevey in awed unison.

"Good looks, advanced powers, Quidditch skills, _and_ a way with the ladies," Colin muttered admiringly to his younger brother as nervous giggles erupted from the crowd. "He _does_ have it all."

The brothers continued to gape as Harry and Ginny exited through the portrait hole. The onlookers began to disperse, and in unison once again, the boys sighed, "That was _so_ cool."

>>>

Dean remained frozen even as the rest of the party-goers began to chatter—some enthralled with speculation and gossip, others returning to discussion of the match, still others just full of the thrill of the whole occasion bursting out in excited squeals and hoops and hollers. He was mildly aware of the fact that he had broken his glass, a feat on which he would later look back as rather impressive, through the power of sheer, quiet rage. He set the shattered remnants down on the nearest table as people milled around him, seemingly at double speed.

How could Harry have done this to him? The deserting Captain hadn't been out there. He hadn't scored 70 of Gryffindor's 450 points! Most importantly of all, he hadn't been on the pitch when Ginny caught the Snitch, hadn't been the first to hug her, hadn't seen the clear look of meaning that Ginny had given Dean, a soft look in the midst of the mad riot that indicated forgiveness, warmth, and a possible celebratory rendezvous...

For the harshest moment of his young life, through a haze of jealousy and shock and betrayal, Dean loathed Harry—then loathed himself for being so small by comparison. Of course Ginny would rather be with the noble, heroic, tragic, and dangerous Harry. But why had Harry taken her now, in one of Dean's few shining hours of glory? Hot tears burned behind Dean's eyes, and he stormed unnoticed up the stairs to the dormitory. It was his party, the team's party—not Harry's—and he would cry if he wanted to.


	3. Bad

Song: "Bad"

Artist: Michael Jackson

Ordinarily, Draco Malfoy despised the damp English air. It caused the ends of his hair to curl, trifling with his preferred sleek style. He was known to complain incessantly to whomever would listen whenever a mist settled over the Hogwarts grounds. Today, however, the humidity was the last thing on Draco's mind, for today was anything but ordinary.

He was being escorted by a very tall, blond Death Eater through an excessively damp hallway in an excessively damp manor. Where exactly this manor was, he did not know, for his escort had arrived suddenly at his home that morning (while Draco had embarrassingly still been in his pajamas and bathrobe), announcing that the Dark Lord had requested Draco's presence. Draco had been able to hear his mother and the Death Eater discussing something rather heatedly while he hastily dressed, and when he returned downstairs the Death Eater had grabbed his arm and Apparated him away before his mother could speak. They had reappeared in a dense wood and walked about half a mile to a clearing which contained several twisted ornamental trees and the crumbly, imposing mansion through which they were now hurrying.

Draco could assume why they were hurrying — no one kept the Dark Lord waiting — but he was in the dark about everything else. Why would the Dark Lord want to see him? Was it about Father? Why hadn't his mother warned him? He smoothed his hair nervously, and the tall Death Eater shot him a look of pure condescension.

The Death Eater led Draco down a narrow stairwell off the manor's kitchen, and now instead of being surrounded by faded wallpaper and dusty, ornate furnishings, they were encased in a tunnel of cold, gray stone. The temperature dropped dramatically. The basement, far larger than the house above it, seemed to Draco a maze of endless tunnels, punctuated occasionally by thick wooden doors. As they twisted and turned to their unknown destination, Draco stopped feeling merely ruffled and began feeling the dread and quiet panic appropriate for the situation.

He had never before been face-to-face with the Dark Lord. Why should he have been? From what he had heard, the Dark Lord called sudden meetings with only two kinds of people: those he intended to reward for a great deed, and those he intended to punish. This realization made Draco gulp. He hoped he had unwittingly done something good... he had heard horror stories about the torture of which the Dark Lord was capable.

Before Draco's imagination could run away with him, the tall Death Eater stopped an unmarked door, identical to all the others they had passed. Draco ran into him. The Death Eater didn't appear to notice; he drew his wand and pointed it at a random pit in the stone wall. After a moment, the rusty lock clicked and the door creaked open. From within, a high yet powerful voice spoke, a voice that filled Draco immediately with prickly, icy terror.

"Enter."

The Death Eater strode in without a glance back at Draco. Draco hesitated and fleetingly wondered if he remembered the way out well enough to just run away — but no. Even if they didn't catch him, word of his cowardice would eventually reach his father. Overcoming his fear, he cautiously took one step forward, then continued briskly into the room, trying to look as tall and confident as possible. He would appear before the Dark Lord as a man, not as a boy.

He had entered a long stone chamber with a high ceiling. It was dim, but at the far end Draco could see the thin silhouette of a figure seated on a chair. As he approached to where the tall Death Eater was standing about midway across the room, he saw that the chair was rough, wooden, unremarkable — but the figure sat upon it as though it was a throne. It was unmistakably the leader of the pureblood cause; the til-now faceless one whose name inspired unchecked fear; the most powerful wizard of all time: Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord gestured at the tall Death Eater, and he retreated to the back of the chamber. Draco's eyes locked on the Dark Lord's grotesque appearance; he could not look away. The red eyes, the gray-white skin, the snake-like nose were all hideous enough, but it was something else that intimidated Draco. It was his manner in general, the way he moved his spidery fingers, the way he sat in a rickety chair in a dungeon like it was a palace on top of the world. It was clear that the creature before him commanded great power — ugly, malicious, intoxicating power — and had thus obtained those characteristics himself.

The Dark Lord looked at Draco and said, sounding almost annoyed, "I want you to kill Albus Dumbledore."

There was a long pause in which Draco wondered if the Dark Lord was serious. He stood up straighter and resisted the impulse to smooth his hair.

Continuing, the Dark Lord said, "It is of no importance to me what method you use, but guilt must not be traced back to you. I expect you to complete the task no later than by the end of your next year at Hogwarts, the sooner the better. Do you understand?"

Draco had no words. Why would the Dark Lord entrust such an important and difficult task to an inexperienced schoolboy? Though he despised the old fool, Draco couldn't underestimate Dumbledore's powers. To kill him would be impossible! How was he expected to succeed?

Realization slithered through from the back of his mind. He wasn't expected to succeed at all. The Dark Lord was not careless. But what was to be gained from sending Draco to inevitable failure? His father had told him that the Dark Lord was always to be completely trusted, yet Draco could not stop doubt from encroaching him.

Confusion and curiosity overcame his fearful reverence, and Draco stammered, "B- but, Master—"

With but the slightest sound of movement, the Dark Lord was suddenly standing, wand out, and Draco was thrown to the floor by an unimaginable blast of pain. Draco felt his bones shattering, joints separating, skin tearing; he could not tell if his voice was screaming or if it was just his body—

The cessation of the pain was nearly as shocking as the initial blast. Draco's vision swam back into focus. Somehow he was still whole... he stared stupidly up at the Dark Lord, all pretense of manliness gone.

"Get up," the Dark Lord spat. Draco staggered to his feet. "Now listen to me, you foolish boy. My servants do not fail me. Do you know why?"

Draco, his heart pounding, did not speak.

"Because I'm bad," hissed the Dark Lord. "I'm a bad wizard. I do not say that I am a bad man, for you know that I am not even human anymore." The Dark Lord spoke slowly, quietly, menacingly. "I'm bad. Really, really bad. And you know it. All my servants know that if they fail me, I will do bad things. They only hope that I will be merciful and kill them." He stared at Draco with dangerous eyes. "Do you understand?"

Draco was frozen for a moment, but, terrified of another Cruciatus Curse, forced himself to nod.

The Dark Lord stepped back to his throne. "Come here," he said, seating himself.

Draco marched forward, his thoughts a confused blur of trepidation and wanting his mother. The Dark Lord instructed him to roll up the left sleeve of his robe and hold out his arm.

"Do not move."

The Dark Lord placed the tip of his wand on Draco's forearm and pressed down. Draco winced as his flesh burned and blackened. When the wand was pulled away, the Dark Mark showed starkly against his pale skin. Draco stared at it; the permanence of the Mark made everything real. He had been branded a soldier of the Dark Lord, thrust onto the front lines... and now realized how very little he understood about the war.


End file.
